


A Few Choice Words

by Ias



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bard accidentally calls Thranduil a bastard to his face and Thranduil thinks it's hilarious, Humor, M/M, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3454244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in the Woodland Realm on business, Bard meets a nameless elf and strikes up a conversation about King Thranduil that he will soon come to regret. </p>
<p>Written for the prompt "Mistaken Identities".</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Few Choice Words

Bard stood in the middle of the room and tried not to look as awkward as he felt.

It didn't seem a proper kind of waiting room, especially for the King of Mirkwood—there should be some chairs, or some gaudy art to look at, or really anything to give people something to do other than standing around twirling their thumbs. But the room was completely bare, the walls featureless except for the pattern of branches that wound their way up to the high ceiling. It took Bard approximately thirty seconds to inspect the room after the guard had deposited him and told him to await the King's pleasure. That had been an hour ago. There was only so many times he could count the vines (roots? branches? very convincing stonework?) in the walls without going utterly berserk.

He shouldn't be here at all, really. The Master had sent him to resolve an issue with the deliveries of wine and barrels routinely made to the Elven kingdom—apparently King Thranduil had started underpaying him, and the Master thought Bard was just the man to address that. Or more likely, he thought Thranduil would disembowel any person who dared question his authority, and the Master would be all too happy if that person was Bard. Well, if Bard had to die a horrible death at the hands of the Elvenking, he'd rather just get it over with. His feet were beginning to hurt.

He craned his neck around the room, impatience itching in his fingertips. What the room lacked in features it made up for in doors, seven of them all identical and all closed. Bard scrutinized them closely. He had already dared to open and peer out of a few, and as far as he could tell they led to similarly identical passageways. Halfway through his wait, he'd begun to expect that the Elves had forgotten him. A while after that, he was convinced they were willfully ignoring him. At this rate it would be dark before Bard could even consider heading back to Laketown, and the idea of spending a night in the forest was not one he'd soon cherish.

His eyes flitted from door to door. Perhaps the elves were watching him now, snickering behind their hands and wondering how long they could make the stupid human wait before he started throwing things. Well, he'd let them laugh for long enough. He was going to march through one of those doors, find someone to look at the grimy papers shoved into his coat, and then get out of this wretched forest for good.

The first door he chose swung open easily under his hand, and he stepped through onto a narrow walkway through one of the kingdom's massive caverns. With a nervous glance over the side of the precipice, he set off at a pace that implied he knew exactly where he was going and would suffer no fools to stop him. All he needed was to find someone, _anyone_ , to resolve the Master's grievances in the simplest way possible, and then he could be on his merry way.

He wandered the halls of Mirkwood for what felt like hours without seeing a living soul.

Likely it hadn't been nearly so long as that, but Bard's feet were sore and his frustration rising. He couldn't have found his way back to the first waiting room if all the gold in Smaug's hoard awaited him there. The passageways drew closer the further he walked, jeweled lanterns leading his way deeper into the Woodland Realm. He heard the sound of running water nearby, and on an utter, aggravated whim, he followed it.

Rounding a corner, Bard saw a sight more welcome than he could have imagined—a lone figure, staring over the gently eddying currents of an underground river. It was the first person Bard had seen since leaving the room, and he'd be damned if he let this game go on any further. Bard headed straight for him.

"You there," he called, doing his best to fight down the antagonism creeping into his voice.

The elf turned, surprise marking his features. Bard slowed his determined march as soon as their eyes met. Something about this elf was different from the others—his clothes were more ornate, perhaps, but most elves seemed to clothe themselves in finery as far as Bard could tell. His face, just as ageless as any other of his kind, was as radiant and remote as the face of the moon.

"How did you come to be here?" he asked. His voice was low and smooth, but certainly not kind.

Rather than admit to how hopelessly lost he had gotten, Bard took another purposeful step forward and squared his shoulders. "I'm here on behalf of the Master of Laketown, seeking an audience with King Thranduil."

Now the elf turned to him in full, and the detached expression shifted to contempt. "Are you, now," he mused, and Bard was not the kind of man to start grudges or hold them, but he disliked this elf already.

"I am," he said, a little too forcefully. "Or would be, if I could find the bastard."

The elf's eyebrows shot up, his lips slightly parted as if he were about to speak. Bard cringed internally. "I apologize. I did not mean to insult your king, let alone a man I've never met. It's just that I've been waiting all day to get these damn papers signed—or stamped, maybe, I'm not entirely sure—and frankly, I'd rather be just as far from here as all you elves would probably like me." He spread his hands in a gesture that was half-apologetic, half-apathetic. He realized he'd been babbling, but was too harried to care. "So if you wouldn't mind taking me to someone with the authority to help, I'd be much obliged to get out of your hair."

As Bard spoke the elf's expression changed, going from affronted to bemused to practically grinning. It wasn't a nice smile that spread over his lips—it certainly implied that something was about to happen at Bard's expense. But he bobbed his head all the same, and gestured for Bard to follow him.

"Of course," he murmured. "I will bring you to the king directly."

Bard did not bother to veil his surprise. "Well. Thank you, then. Truly."

The elf did not bother to lose his smirk as he led Bard down another indistinguishable passageway. "You said you are from Laketown."

"I did. The Master saw fit to appoint me the honor of airing out his grievances." Bard could scarcely keep the sarcasm from his voice.

The elf noticed. "If he intends to impose on the king's time with his own personal matters, it seems he should have come himself."

"Such responsible action is hardly in his style. Now there is a man I feel qualified to call a bastard." Bard sighed raggedly. "Apologies, again. I'm afraid I'm not making a good impression of myself."

"You need fear no reprimand from me. Feel free to speak as you wish."

The silence stretched between them for a moment. It seemed they were walking quite slowly—strolling, really—compared to the forced march the Elven guards had escorted him at. This elf walked with poise, his spine straight, gliding across the walkways while Bard's footsteps rung loud and hollow.

"Elf or man, I suspect most rulers are the same, in the end," Bard commented. "Concerned with little more than power and gold, and acquiring more of both."

"You think so?" Bard did not fail to notice the hint of irony in the elf's voice. "And you care for neither, I suppose."

"My people learned well of the evils brought down by gold." Bard tilted his head. "I suppose a little power would be nice, if it meant I wouldn't have to be running the Masters errands. But to be king—no, I wouldn't want that."

"And what do you know of King Thranduil?" the elf asked idly. The faint smirk on his face had scarcely disappeared through their conversation, yet now it seemed to grow even wider. Bard wondered what exactly was waiting in store for him when he met the enigmatic king. Perhaps the guards had shut him away for his own benefit.

"Not very much," Bard admitted. He shot a wary glance at the elf beside him, thinking perhaps he should curb his words. "I'm sure he is kind, and fair."

The elf shot him an amused look. "You may speak frankly. I welcome it."

Bard shot him a glance. "Are you asking me to gossip about your ruler?"

The elf's smile widened. "Absolutely."

Bard shook his head. "Well, he certainly drinks a lot. With all the wine we ship onwards to his kingdom you'd think there was no fresh water at all. From all of this," Bard gestured vaguely at the splendor of the caverns around them, "I can guess he has no shortage of wealth. You would think he might deign to invest some of it with his neighbors, as opposed to squatting on his gold like a giant toad."

To Bard's shock, the elf threw his head back and _laughed_. Bard had never heard an elf laugh before—his interactions with them had been mostly ranged between a blank stares and frowns. He might have expected something delicate and light like chimes or rainwater, but the laugh he heard was as full-bodied and full of enjoyment as any man's. Bard felt he couldn't help but share it, though more hesitantly as the elf's eyes met his again. They were shining with something Bard couldn't quite place, but which made him slightly nervous.

"'A giant toad,'" the elf repeated. "I quite like that."

"None of this is going to reach your king's ears, is it?" Bard said.

The elf shot him a sidelong glance, eyes still bright with mirth. "I won't say a word."

"That's good," Bard said with a relieved smile. "I think your king might just put my decapitated body in a barrel and send it floating down to Laketown for the Master to collect. He'd probably find it a fitting gift."

As they spoke, the walls opened up around them into another cavern, more massive than any Bard had seen before. The walkways twisted and wound their way up through the air like tree roots. Light shone down from hidden sources, lighting the carvings and guiding Bard and his new confidant across a narrow bridge. Ahead of them the light illuminated a central dais where the carvings were most ornate—as they neared it, Bard saw it housed a throne of some kind, antlers sprouting from it surface. It was currently unoccupied. Bard glanced around, but there seemed to be no royals hiding in the woodwork.

"Am I meant to simply wait here for the king to arrive, or will—" Bard stopped. "Ah," he began again delicately, "what are you doing?"

The elf had walked up to the throne, then continued straight up the curving staircase. He raised an eyebrow to Bard as he continued up to the seat itself. "You requested an audience with the king," he said. A moment later he  settled backwards onto the throne, lounging in the seat as if he had been born to sit there. He stared at Bard with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "I'm granting it."

Bard stared at him. His tongue seemed to have suddenly grown two sizes larger. "…What?" The elf simply stared at him, that amused smile plastered across his features. Glancing over his shoulder, Bard half-expected to see a party of elves giggling from the shadows at Bard's expense. There was no one. When he looked again, the elf was still sitting on the throne, still staring at Bard, and still looking just a little too regal for Bard's liking.

"Is this a joke?" Bard asked helplessly.

"Oh, I certainly find it funny," the elf replied.

" _You_ are King Thranduil?"

The elf—Thranduil, he was _actually_ Thranduil—inspected his nails. "When last I looked."

Bard opened his mouth. He shut it again. A moment later, he covered his face with his hands. "I called you a toad," he whispered in mortification.

"That you did."

" _And_ a bastard."

"Indeed. Quite enthusiastically, at that."

Bard was too shocked to process what was happening, so he settled for dropping his hands and staring at Thranduil in bewilderment. "Why didn't you tell me who you were?"

"Saying nothing promised to be much more amusing."

Bard shuffled his feet. "So is a lifetime of lasting embarrassment punishment enough, or are you going to put my head on a pike?"

Thranduil tilted his head. "Perhaps. I rather liked that suggestion involving your decapitated body in a barrel." He smiled at himself at the idea, and Bard could only hope the amusement in his voice meant that he was joking.

"It wasn't actually a suggestion at the time. Quite the opposite, actually." Bard swallowed, his mouth dry. "Is this the part where I beg for mercy?"

Something lit up in Thranduil's eyes that made the hair on the back of Bard's neck stand on end with something that wasn't the fear it was about to be separated from his body. "As much as I might enjoy that," he all but purred, "I believe we may hold off on that for now. Your grievances?"

The shift to business was so sudden Bard nearly failed to understand what he was asking. With hands that almost shook, Bard fumbled the papers out of his coat pocket and tried to force his eyes to focus. "Ah, um, right. 'To Lord Thranduil, King of the Greenwood, Most Illustrious—'"

"Exactly the sort of simpering I was glad to avoid in your company," Thranduil said in a voice so bored it seemed to ooze across the floor. "Just tell me plainly—you seem to have no problem doing so—what does he want?"

Bard hesitated, then stuffed the papers back into his coat. "He thinks you're underpaying him for his wine."

Thranduil all but rolled his eyes. "You may tell him I will pay him fairly when he stops watering down every cask of Dorwinian red that happens to pass under his nose."

"I think he might actually try to have me imprisoned if I told him that," Bard said dubiously.

Thranduil's long fingers drummed on the arm of his throne. "Then I will have it drawn up in official writing and presented by an official messenger. In the meantime, you may tell him that I am reviewing your petition and will give it all the thought it is due." He raised an eyebrow. "Does that conclude this business to your satisfaction?"

"Very much so," Bard said, wondering if that was a dismissal. Thranduil did not seem to expect him to leave, yet Bard was unsure of what more he could want. "Thank you," Bard said, perhaps a little stiffly. He still wasn't entirely sure whether the elf had threatened his life or not, after all. "I was anticipating much more difficulty in resolving this. Though now  it's likely too late in the day to arrive in Laketown before dark all the same."

"Far too late," Thranduil agreed. "And the forests are very dangerous. You should spend the night here, under my hospitality."

Bard resisted the urge to narrow his eyes in suspicion. "Is this just a way to keep me here so you can inflict some kind of horrible torture on me?"

"That may depend on what new insults you invent for me over dinner."

Bard couldn't help but laugh at that. It was probably wise for him to get as far from the Elvenking as possible before he changed his mind about the decapitation issue, but the promise of food and a warm bed was too much to resist. On top of that, Bard found he was beginning to enjoy the king's company. So instead of fumbling some polite goodbye and scuttling out of Thranduil's sight, he merely stood there and allowed the elf's gaze to rake over him without comment for a moment more. "I suppose I'll have to risk it."

The smile that spread over Thranduil's face was nothing less than lascivious. Bard had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that Thranduil might be reviewing his policy on begging for mercy. He had a related feeling somewhere below the pit of his stomach as well, but that was something to explore after he'd sampled some of the wine he'd spent so long ferrying up the river.

"Excellent," was what Thranduil actually said in words. "I will have an attendant show you to your rooms." On cue, an elf appeared from Valar-knew-where and inclined her head. With a final glance at Thranduil, Bard made to follow her.

"One last thing." When Bard turned back to Thranduil, his smirk had grown indulgent. He leaned back on his throne, raising an eyebrow. "Am I anything like you expected?"

Bard thought about it. "No," he decided. "Infinitely worse."

He would probably regret that comment, he thought as he followed the attendant away. But if the echo of Thranduil's laughter and the burn of his eyes on Bard's back was any indication, he might just enjoy regretting it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [my tumblr](http://curmudgeony.tumblr.com) with the rest of my barduil trash :')


End file.
